


Into The White Timestamp Fic

by nu_breed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, M/M, POV Second Person, Supernatural Wishverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the 'Wishverse', prequel Timestamp to Into The White</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The White Timestamp Fic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Into the White](https://archiveofourown.org/works/760303) by [nu_breed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed). 



They ask you where you want to go for your birthday; you just shrug and say, "Wherever you want."

You never put that much stock in birthdays anyway, just another year is what you always told Mom and she'd laugh and shake her head and say, "Ah, Sammy. Always the practical one. Don't forget to be a kid while you can, okay?" Then she'd hug you and whisper in your ear that she loved you and that you'd always be her baby, no matter how old you were.

You miss her.

You miss him more.

You do far too many tequila shots with Zach and Becky and you make out with Jess in the backseat of her car when she drops you back on campus. You haven't gone all the way yet, though you've done everything but and you can't work out why you keep holding back.

No. That's a complete lie. You know exactly why, and you fucking hate it. Hate him.

You know you shouldn't call, that's his deal, late-night phonecalls, but you can't help yourself with Jose Cuervo and half a joint rushing through your bloodstream.

It's two am when you call and you hope against hope that he isn't there, that he's out drinking and fucking some skank whose name he doesn't even know. But when he picks up, he sounds like he's been sleeping.

"Sam?"

His voice sounds raw and scratchy and it makes your dick go from half-hard to hard as fucking rock in those few seconds.

There are so many things you want to say, but "It's my birthday, asshole, didn't you remember?" wasn't actually on the list.

"Of course I remember Sam, I remember everything. Do you?"

You swallow, hard.

"Well, do you?" You know even without looking at him that Dean has that look in his eyes, the one that's too intense for you to look at, the one that makes it look like he's seeing right inside your soul and you don't want him in there, don't want him seeing what's really going on inside your head because it's sick and wrong and twisted and...

"Yeah, I remember, Dean." You pause and grab the bottle of bourbon that your roommate gave you for your birthday. Roger's at his girlfriend's and won't be back till tomorrow. He told you that you should bring Jessica home and fuck her while he wasn't there. Roger is kinda crass, like Dean. But nowhere near as beautiful, nowhere near as... everything as Dean.

"I remember," you repeat. "I remember it all."

You sit down on the sofa, chug back some bourbon and try to ignore the bitter taste at the back of your throat that has nothing to do with alcohol.

"Are you alone?" Dean's voice sounds like it's catching in his throat.

You nod first, before realising that he can't see you. You shouldn't say yes, anyway. Should just tell him that your roommate's there right next to you, that he can hear every word you're both saying. But you don't. You take one more pull on the bourbon and put it down on the floor next to you.

"Yeah," you say, "I'm alone, Dean."

"Good."

Dean pauses for a long time, and you can't help but grind the heel of your hand down the front of your pants. You need the friction, you've been hard since Dean picked up the phone and now you're so hard that you can barely think.

"Sam, are you hard?"

"Yes." It's like he's reading your mind, or something. "God, yes."

"Fucking miss you." Dean's voice is hitched and he's making these little breathy moans and you know damn well that he's touching himself. You unzip your pants, pull your cock out and start to jerk yourself, slow and rough.

"Tell me," you groan, "tell me what you miss."

"Fuck." Dean sounds like he's grinding his teeth. "Miss everything about you, Sam. Your eyes, your stupid long hair, your mouth. Oh Christ, your ass."

"Ungh." You're speeding up now, driving your hips forward and back, fucking your own hand and it feels good, but not as good as Dean does it. Nothing feels as good as Dean.

"I wish I was there." Dean's voice sounds so close, but it's so fucking far away. "I'd push you down, Sam, throw you on the floor, on the bed and. Ah. Fuck you for hours, fuck your mouth like I used to, oh fucking _God_ , your little jailbait mouth on my dick."

You can't even speak, but Dean doesn't seem to be having a problem, telling you how he's going to fuck you so hard, that he can't wait, wants to jump on a plane right now and fuck you anywhere, not caring who can see. That nobody else knows you like he does; that you'll never be had the way Dean has you.

It's dirty and wrong, but it's so fucking true it makes you want to cry and you can't get enough of it.

"Do you do this a lot, Sam? Fuck your hand and wish it was me? Get your fingers lubed up and fuck yourself on them? I'd pay to see that, little brother. The noises you make, God, so hot and sweet and... fuck, Sam, are you close?"

"Yes. Dean, yes." You try not to whimper, but you hear Dean groan and you know full well he's coming and that's it, it's all too much and you lose it. You come, harder than you have in months, with Dean's voice right there, telling you things that you'll have to pretend you didn't hear. You hit 'end' with his voice still urging you on and tears stinging in your eyes.

 

 

 

end


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